


The Devil in Me

by Tsula



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 4
Genre: Death, Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Psychological Trauma, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-26 17:55:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3859465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsula/pseuds/Tsula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He brought out the best and the worst in you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Machinations

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo~ I had a review on another fic asking about this particular story. That people were interested in my little side project put me in the mood to work on it. x3
> 
> Massive warning for this story: it is very dark and will only get darker as it goes on. Expect graphic violence, lots of blood, tons of swearing, plenty of mind fuckery, and eventual smut. 
> 
> Also the music only came into play during the revision. The first six chapters I wrote in silence… which is pretty weird for me. Weirder still is that I built up a lot of songs for this fic’s playlist while revising. XD 
> 
> These are just for the non-smut chapters. The lemon (which I am still working on) has it’s own list. @~@
> 
> [* **Songs** *]  
>  Addicted : Kelly Clarkson  
> Aesir : Two Steps From Hell  
> Again : Flyleaf  
> All Around Me : Flyleaf  
> Black Blade : Two Steps From Hell  
> Blood of the Rose : The Dear Hunter  
> Broken : Seether feat. Amy Lee  
> Cadence of Her Last Breath : Nightwish  
> Civil War : Guns N’ Roses  
> Cold : Five Finger Death Punch  
> Dark Horse : Katy Perry  
> Darkness : Darren Hayes  
> Das Böse : E Nomine  
> Eva : Nightwish  
> Floating Museum : Yoko Kanno  
> Godfather Theme : Katherine Jenkins  
> Goodbye Lost Innocence : Alana Grace  
> Hanging On By a Thread : The Letter Black  
> In the Light : Full Blown Rose  
> It Will Come Back : Hozier  
> Keep Talking : Pink Floyd  
> Led Astray : Sirenia  
> Live and Let Die : Guns N’ Roses  
> Lost : Within Temptation  
> Monster : Lady GaGa  
> Murder : Within Temptation  
> Rain of Brass Petals (Three Voices Edit) : Akira Yamaoka  
> Remember Everything : Five Finger Death Punch  
> The Dogs of War : Pink Floyd

He should have killed you. It’s what you expected sitting there covered in the blood of the king’s slain soldiers. He should have picked up a gun and shot you for what you had done to save your own skin. 

Instead he smiled as if you’d amused him somehow. As if seeing you shocked and bloody in the midst of dead bodies was one big joke. His men certainly didn’t find it funny: they looked more than ready to finish the job their fallen comrades had failed at. However, in Kyrat the king’s word is law. Second guessing him was not something you did if you valued your life, as many people had learned first hand. 

So when he didn’t kill you or order his men to and instead offered you his hand, no one could say anything against it. Despite whatever hatred his soldiers may have harbored, whatever distrust they held, none of them said a word. They lowered their guns and their gaze as Pagan Min pulled you to your feet. 

He stroked your hair with an unexpected fondness, as if he’d just recovered something precious that had been lost. “We should get you cleaned up.”

You closed your eyes against his touch not out of fear but in a sort of disbelief. What you’d expected had been a knife or a bullet, not kindness and certainly not such tenderness. 

Whatever was going on in his head, it seemed you were at least safe for the moment—though that in no way meant he wouldn’t decide to kill you eventually. The king was far more dangerous than anything else the country held and while you had survived the harshness of the jungle and the brutality of his soldiers, it was very unlikely that you were anywhere near safe.

You hadn’t known safety since you first stepped foot in Kyrat.

 

 **CH. 1** : _Machinations_

The cold water brought you back to your senses better than a slap to the face. Though seeing the heavy tinge of red pooling at your feet made you want to crawl back inside yourself and never come out. There was just so much blood—too much blood it seemed—and it felt as though you would never be clean again. 

Your clothes had been cast aside without care or modesty almost before you were left to yourself in the bath house. You had wanted so badly to be rid of them, but being without them only brought to light just how much blood had touched your skin. What little room you had in your mind for being thankful was expended on the fact that you’d never been forced to see your own reflection. The image in your head was horrible enough, but to actually see it—to witness first hand your own face covered in blood—it would have likely been too much to take. 

Not even a month of trying to survive in this god-forsaken nightmare of a country and you’d already had to kill people. Sure, they were probably going to kill you or worse if they’d had the chance, but this fact only helped in the moment. In hindsight, when you had the time to really put things in perspective, it would likely be much worse. 

You tried to fixate on something else and cast your glance around the room for another target, another topic to mull over aside from the death of three people by your own hand. All you saw was a wooden room with very little in it aside from a water pump, barrels, and a pile of clothes belonging to a woman who was probably dead. Pagan had opted to bring you to a house in the nearby town that his men occupied rather than making you wait until arriving at whatever destination he had in mind—you really didn’t have the energy to care what he was planning just then. Whether this was some form of civility, understanding, or even chivalry you weren’t sure. For all you knew he may have just found your current state of blood-drench to be unsightly. 

So this had you standing naked in some poor soul’s bath house using buckets of icy water out of a pump to clean off. The old you would have been put off by such a thing. You’d have bemoaned the lack of indoor plumping and winced away from the frigid waters. Oh, how you missed the luxuries of that kind of pampered state of mind. Where such trivial things could bother you and a bad day consisted of dead batteries, unsavory food, and knocking your knee on the bedside table. 

After what you had seen that actually counted as a good day by comparison. You’d spent nights alone in the woods with nothing but the sound of feral beasts and gunfire to keep you company. There had been stretches of days where you had eaten nothing at all because the plants were unfamiliar and you didn’t have the stomach to kill animals for food. You’d been scratched, bitten, shot at, hit, and nearly killed on an almost routine basis for weeks. Honestly you were surprised to find that your entire body wasn’t one big bruise. 

Another bucket of cold water helped to divert your thoughts for a moment, but then they picked right back up and turned in a direction you were wary of venturing towards. 

Why was Pagan Min keeping you alive? 

Was he planning something? Had he been impressed by the fact that you had taken out three of his men? It was confusing to say the least. Rationally speaking he shouldn’t have spared you, especially since he had no reason to think that you wouldn’t come after him as well. Then again, there didn’t seem to be a whole lot of rationality behind the kings motives under any circumstances. From what you’d seen and heard of him he was the sort of man who did whatever the hell he wanted without a damn bit of concern for what people thought of it. 

Partially you were happy to still be breathing, but the confusion and guilt over having to murder to stay alive kind of out weighted anything positive. Especially since it wasn’t entirely the fact that you’d killed that bothered you so much as the simplicity of it. 

It had been so easy to kill them—so very easy to end their lives—and you really never thought it would be. Ending anyone’s life, no matter what kind of person they were, should have an effect on the one who kills them. Murder shouldn’t be so _simple_.

A knock at the door made your entire body stiffen. 

“Are you decent?” There was still a tinge of mirth in Pagan’s tone and you didn’t have the stomach to answer. 

It was hard to reconcile decency with your current state of nakedness and the copious amount of blood that had pooled at your feet during your slapdash cleansing. 

He waited a few moments for a response and either taking the silence for consent, or just to see if you were still alive, he stepped on in. Even in the low light he had a very good view of your naked body from the back, but you couldn’t find the strength to care. 

You dumped another bucket of ice water over your head and tried to ignore his presence, though the sound of his footsteps as he came closer made you tense with every step. 

He lifted a piece of your drenched hair and you became very still. 

“I’d say you’re more than clean enough at this point,” Pagan murmured as you stood still as stone under his scrutiny. “Though if you are trying to wash away the sin, my dear girl, you are wasting your time.” His fingers slid across your shoulder as he dropped the wet lock and leaned in very close. You could feel his breath against the back of your neck and it made you tremble from head to toe. “That never washes out—you just have to learn to enjoy it.” 

You turned suddenly, bristling at his playful tone and found yourself nose to nose with the wicked king. The words slipped from the tip of your tongue and vanished right when you needed them most under his heated gaze. There was something in that look that made all the vulnerability you should have felt before come rushing in at the wrong time. The fact that you were naked and he was so very close was suddenly an issue and yet you couldn’t make your arms rise to cover yourself. 

The heat coming off of him was such a contrast to the frigid chill the water had left on your skin that it felt like layers of ice were melting off your body. Suddenly you were shivering for an entirely different reason though as you held the devil’s gaze. 

He leaned down brushing his lips across your cheek, leaving a tingle in their wake as he slid his mouth towards your ear. “As much as I would love to teach you all about the joy of _sin_ ,” His words also left a tingle too, but somewhere else entirely. “If you don’t hurry and get dressed we are going to be very late.” 

He pulled back with a playful smile and turned on his heels leaving you confused, warm, and dazed. 

Just what the hell was _that_?


	2. The Offering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since these chapters are fairly short and all but the last one are already written and revised, I figured I might try and update more frequently. It might mean I get hung up on the last one, but I am hoping it will actually make me get it done quickly. I'd like to finally have Pagan out of the way and be able to focus on my other posted stories as well as my unposted side projects... especially the one for Qui-Gon Jinn. x3

The clothes that had been set out for you were plain, but obviously feminine and, though they were slightly big, they were actually comfortable. Not to mention a much better upgrade from your old clothes which you had left behind as a pile on the floor. There was no way you would ever want to touch those things again, let alone wear them. 

Pagan was waiting comfortably at the kitchen table with one of his bodyguards standing awkwardly in the doorway leading outside. The moment you stepped into the room Pagan looked up from his nails and to you with a smile and then a small grimace. The latter confused you enough that you looked down at your clothes wondering if you were wearing them wrong. They seemed alright as the decorative fold on the red shirt was in the front and the beige slacks were without ornament and could really have been on backwards without being noticeable. 

“Don’t mistake it, darling,” He said airily as he stood. “You look very lovely, but such _peasantry_ is hardly fitting or something I would have chosen had there been anything better to choose from.” He sighed heavily as if burdened by the fact that you were in such plain clothes. “As soon as we get back I hope to find you much more pleasing attire.” 

He motioned towards the door with a sweeping gesture and a playful smile that had you thinking too much on the incident in the bath house and not enough on what insidious things he might be planning. The man was as distracting as he was manipulative. 

Still though, he had kept you alive and you would likely only stay that way so long as you played his game. So you let him lead you outside where more of his men were hanging around. Some were standing at the ready with guns, others patrolling, and a few gathered around a cage poking something that did not sound pleased. 

You stood there for a moment as the animal snarled and the men chortled as if tempting the thing were some hilarious game. A sudden image of the animal breaking free and taking vengeance was almost too tempting to escape—men like that had no idea what it felt like to be caged and it made you sick with anger. Part of you wondered just how Pagan would feel if you let loose a bloodthirsty beast on his soldiers. He certainly didn’t seem to mind you slitting their throats. 

Shoving the impulse aside you looked back at Pagan who was waiting with a knowing smile near his helicopter. He held out his hand with that smile still in place and you hated the way it made your heart flutter. Loath as you were to admit it, he had already gotten under your skin with his confusing charm. It was so unnerving that he was treating you this way when so many others would have seen you dead. 

You took his hand and let him help you up into the helicopter. He helped you all the way to your seat in fact and sat down very close at your side, throwing his arm around your shoulders almost protectively. You tried not to let your body react to his closeness, but your face was already on fire. Everything he did took you right back to that incident in the bath house and his spoken desire about showing you the fun side of sin. If he noticed how his closeness was affecting you though, he said nothing. 

He seemed perfectly at ease during the flight while your insides were positively squirming with anxiety and tension. It was unreal how peaceful he was by comparison, especially since it hadn’t even been an hour since he’d found you blood soaked and surrounded by the bodies of his men. Though, from what you’d heard of the tyrant king, he’d apparently done much worse than slit a few throats. 

You shoved your feelings to the side as best as you could and tried to focus on your surroundings—aside from the man who had his arm around you. 

From the air Kyrat actually looked very beautiful and far less terrifying than it had been on foot. The snowy mountains in the distance contrasted with the greenery and full bloom of the flowering trees making the scene look utterly magical. With that perspective it could be understood why people fought and died for the country. However, it was hard to understand the other things that they did. Like abduction, rape, drug peddling and abuse, plus of course the rampant slave trade. Whether this was a way to fund the efforts or just what war turned men into, it made it hard for you to truly enjoy the beauty of Kyrat after all that you had seen. 

Watching the passing scenery was peaceful at least, more so than anything you’d experienced for awhile. You actually felt safe there with Pagan as you let him hold you. Perhaps a little too safe considering the monstrous acts the man was capable of. However, the confusion and peace mixed with weeks of very little sleep weighed too heavily on you. The last time you’d had a full night’s sleep had been back on campus in India before any of this madness had happened. Your eyes grew very heavy as you sat there warm and feeling oddly safe against Pagan’s chest, watching the passing blur of trees and flowers. 

Just when it was that you had dozed off, you weren’t entirely sure. One moment you were watching a tiny speck of a car on the winding road far below and the next Pagan was whispering in your ear. “Time to wake up.” 

You blinked back the fuzzy blur of sleep and realized that the helicopter had landed at some point and you had somehow wound up completely in Pagan’s arms while you slept. He looked rather bemused by this and you felt the rush of heat rolling across your skin once more. 

Regardless of any amount of fatigue, how in the world could you have fallen asleep in the arms of a mad man? For all you knew he could have been taking you back to where this nightmare all started. 

The thought had you sitting up very quickly and checking out your surroundings with a certain tinge of panic that made him chuckle. However, what you saw was not a dingy old building with junk pile cars outside or smoking guards patrolling a barbed wire fence with dogs sniffing about. It was a fairly large and lovely sort of place with trees, a small shrine, and one of the most beautiful views you had seen yet. 

A thousand questions tingled on the tip of your tongue, but you were too nervous to let them loose. 

Pagan stepped out of the helicopter and offered his hand just as before. You took it with a near absentmindedness while taking in the sights. 

Once more the man had managed to surprise you as this place was far from the horror that you’d feared. 

He led you into the building and to your amazement the guards did not follow. 

Inside was very dark and lit only by candle light. Pagan led you through a few rooms and up to the second floor. 

“I have a surprise that I think you will enjoy.” He murmured softly and with that sultry tone that should not have had such a wicked effect on your state of mind. 

He paused in front of a red door and in the flickering light of the candles his eyes seemed to glow. “Would you like to see it?”

Your voice was once more banished by the look in his eyes and the closeness of him. So you had to settle for a reluctant nod that seemed to appease him regardless. He reached out and stroked your face setting your nerves on fire just with that one small touch. If he kept this up you would never recover. 

He turned and opened the door slowly, grabbing your hand to pull you forward and usher you inside. This room was also fairly dark, though there was a light in the center that shined down like a beacon on an old wooden chair and the person tied to it. 

Whatever you were expecting this surprise to be, it hadn’t been anywhere close to what it actually was. You began to tremble and Pagan slipped his arms around you. The warmth and firmness of his chest against your back and his arms holding you fast helped keep the nightmare at a distance, but it was still there. You could still remember everything that this terrible person had put you through. 

Sitting there beneath the light bound, gagged, and utterly terrified as the reason that you had been made to suffer in the first place. It was the man who had abducted you on your way to class, the man who had smuggled you into Kyrat and tried to sell you off to the highest bidder. He still had the scars on his face from where you’d struck him during your escape, where the bottle had shattered against his head and the glass had cut into the skin. 

His eyes were wide with fear as you stood there in the arms of the king. There was no doubt in your mind that he recognized you and that seeing you there with Pagan Min had put the fear of God into his black heart. Suddenly you were more than just an escaped slave. Standing there you were the one who would decide his fate and he knew this just as you did. He knew that the king had brought him there as an offering to you, though neither of you knew the reason behind this gesture. 

Pagan slipped something into your hand as he whispered almost sweetly in your ear: “He’s all yours.”

It was only as he turned and left the room that you looked down at what it was he’d give you.

A knife.


	3. Torture

You were alone in a room with the man who destroyed your life. The knife in your hand seemed to burn your skin with the intensity of its presence.

_‘He’s all yours.’_

Pagan’s words were like poison in your mind, tempting you with horrible ideas that shouldn’t have been so damn appealing. You wondered if he was watching from somewhere, waiting to see just how far you would go. Would he be pleased if you gave into the rage that was welling so quickly and painfully in your chest? Would he be angry if you didn’t? Might he take that as an insult against his _gift_ to you? 

You stepped closer to the man who’s name you’d never learned and your body trembled just as his did. Though for you it wasn’t a matter of fear like it was for him, but of pure and utter hatred. Sitting there looking so terrified and innocent was someone who had thought nothing of grabbing you off the street at gunpoint, of forcing you into a cage and smuggling you across the border so that he could profit from sick fucks that got off owning people, of collecting girls and boys like they were little more than playthings. He had treated your life, your whole existence, as nothing but a number in that terrible auction. The more the shadowy figures bid for you the happier he became. 

Closer still you stepped as memories of your old life flashed and died beneath the rage and suffering he had put in you. You had come to India as a transfer student, all wide-eyed and naive. The world had been your oyster and you had been so thrilled and enamored with it all. He had taken that wonder from you and snuffed it out—he’d stomped your dreams and hopes to fucking pieces beneath his dirty boots. 

You were close enough that you could smell him and it brought back a vivid recollection of the night you had escaped. He had been so thrilled with the offers you’d brought in, so happy that he’d taken the chance and snatched you right up—apparently you were exotic in this part of the world and that meant a lot of money for twisted fucks like him. The anger inside you swelled until you wanted to scream just to let some of it out. He had gotten drunk that night to celebrate the sale and the money that would be in his dirty hands just as soon as he made the trade off the very next day. It occurred to him in his drunken state that his buyer wouldn’t know the difference if he had a little fun beforehand though.

You leaned in so close you could see the white of his wide, fearful eyes. 

He’d unlocked your cage staggering towards you smelling like sweat, vomit, and cheap whiskey. The wicked smile on his face had been more than enough to spell out every last horrible thing he planned to do to you. He’d upended the bottle in his hand, finishing it off as he stood there drunk off his ass at the opening of your cage and that he been when you struck. 

You knocked him to the ground with a sudden pounce, snatched up the bottle as it hit the floor, and broke the thing right against his ugly leering face. 

Almost without thinking it you reached out and touched the scars on the left side of his head. You could feel him trembling under your finger tips as you traced the lines that had already healed over. He’d wear those scars possibly forever, but he’d long since gotten over the pain. 

The scars he left with you however, those would never heal and you would always feel that pain. 

That was what pushed you over the edge and you lashed out with the knife, slicing him across his scars and making him scream against the gag in his mouth. The muffled sound of his pain only made you angrier though even with the old wounds reopened and gushing blood down the side of his head.

You pulled the gag out roughly stepping back to watch him cough, whimper, and bleed. His left eye was forced shut with the blood rolling down over it and he looked quite pathetic sitting there in such a state. This didn’t help to appease your anger though—not one bit. However, you still weren’t entirely certain of how far you wanted to go with this or really what sort of terrible vengeance _would_ calm the rage.

All you knew for sure was that you hated this guy—hated every _fucking_ thing about him—and the longer you looked him in the eye, the more that hatred grew. 

In fact you had to look away from him just to keep a grip on your sanity. Staring at him only made you think of stabbing him repeatedly and you were trying to rationalize how you would feel about that in hindsight. Perhaps it would appease your vindictive anger in the moment, but down the road you might hate yourself for it. The girl you had been before would have been horrified at the idea of mutilating someone—she’d have been horrified by many things you’d done to survive—but you knew that you could never get her back. That version of yourself had already died out in the jungle. She hadn’t been strong enough to survive this place. 

“P…Ple…ase,” The meek, broken voice made your entire body tense up. Even through the pain, fear, and sobbing you could hear the voice that had haunted your nightmares. 

Your gaze slid back over to him as he cried like an overgrown infant and with the rage came disgust. 

“Plea…se.” He tried again sounding less broken but still crying. “D-d-don’t k-k-kill me.” 

It should have made you feel guilt or despair or some rational, human response to a man begging for his life. Frankly you shouldn’t have even been considering ending it in the first place. Yet hearing him beg you, plead with you, as if he had a right to even look at you after what he’d done—it severed something and you _felt_ it break. It cut a cord inside you that had been holding back something monstrous. 

And you laughed at him. 

_You fucking laughed._

“Please? Don’t?” The mocking tone of your own voice would have surprised you had you not already been too far gone in the heat of anger and unstoppable hatred. “It’s funny, because I swear I can remember saying those exact words to you.” You stepped forward again with the the knife held aloft and pointed right at him. He whimpered like a dog at the sight of it. “I remember begging you to let me go, telling you that I’d done nothing wrong. I told you that my family would be worried, that my friends would be looking for me, and do you remember what you did?” 

He whimpered again and it only served to make you angrier. “Oh, come now, it wasn’t that long ago! Don’t you remember what you said to me? What you said to the terrified and pleading girl you had chained up in the back of your van?” The knife was right under his chin and he was shaking so hard you nearly cut him open. “You said: ‘no one is going to find you’. You said: ‘you’re never going to see any of them again’.”

“I’m s-s-so so—” He tried and you kicked him square in the chest causing him to fall back to the floor with a mighty crash that knocked several candles in the room to the ground as well. 

“ **That** is what you _fucking said to me_ , you sick, demented piece of trash!” You watched him wheeze and cough with a sort of vindictive thrill that made your whole body tingle. He was the one suffering this time—he was the one who was afraid. “So don’t pretend that you feel anything for what I went through you worthless fuck. The only thing you feel is fear over what I’m going to do to you.” You walked around the chair all the while keeping your eyes locked with his. “And so you should.” 

He was crying harder than ever now and it was so pitiful it was almost painful to watch. “There was something else you told me, something that _really_ stuck with me.” 

You knelt down by his head with the dagger right back under his chin again. “That night when you came for me, when you were drunk and looking for a good time at my expense, you said something—do you remember that at least?” 

His lips trembled, his eyes were both shut now, and he was trying to turn away but you wouldn’t let him. You grabbed the side of his face and held him tight so that you could stare right at him as you spoke. “You told me even if they heard me scream that no one was going to save me.” His eye cracked open and the fear that you could see there was so palpable you could taste it. “I think that is very fitting right now, don’t you?” 

The only response he could muster was the sound of pain and terror as you pressed the knife into his skin.


	4. Show Me

Pagan stood there in the dark hallway leaning against the wall. His eyes were shut, but he could picture everything that was happening in that room. 

He realized it was the first time he had heard you speak and also that he loved the sound of your voice—especially tinted with that deliciously murderous rage of yours. 

When he left you in that room he knew that you would do something to avenge yourself against the man who’d made the mistake of picking you as a target, but this was quite a treat. He’d been right when he pegged you as a strong woman, but for you to resort to torture, well that was just all the more reason to want you for himself. 

He listened to your words and they helped paint a picture of your pain, your rage—they helped him understand you better. There were things he’d already known since the word of your escape had first reached his ears. At first he could hardly spare concern for a slave that had gotten away, but the longer you were free and the more fingers you slipped through, the more interested he became. 

You had survived in his jungles, had slipped through the reaching grasps of his soldiers, and you had even managed to take out three armed men singlehandedly. Pagan had always loved women who could take care of themselves and you had proved to be more than capable. 

Now hearing the commanding tone under all that anger, or better yet your laughter—that melodious, merciless, and utterly fucking beautiful sound that shot through him like a burst of fire rushing through his veins—he could hardly hold still. 

He heard the crash and pictured the whimpering man on his back trying to plead with you in vain but unable to catch his breath. The mental image was so titillating he was tempted to sneak a peak. Just a small one. Would his presence cause you to snap out of your rage or would you even mind an audience? It was such a temptation as he desperately wanted to know what you looked like in the grips of madness and fury, just thinking about it made his insides squirm with delight and anticipation. 

One little look couldn’t hurt, right? He could very quiet about it and you’d never even have to know. Assuming of course that he could manage to keep his hands to himself after witnessing it.

~*~~*~*~~*~*~~*~*~~*~*~~*~*~~*~*~~*~

You didn’t slit his throat, though a part of you desperately wanted to. It seemed far too quick and painless an end for a man who deserved agony in spades. Instead you drug the knife across his neck but without the necessary force to really cut him open. It left a line of red that barely even bled, though his trembling nearly spoiled the fun.

You stood up and circled him as you tried to imagine how to go about the task of actually torturing someone. Mentally you had already done a fairly decent job of it, but physically he only had scratches and bruises. The most painful thing had been the slash across the face and that was already clotting. It wasn’t as though you had ever tortured anyone before or really even considered it until you met this man. The man who’s name you didn’t know and never cared to learn—the man who had taken everything with a smile on his fucking face. 

It certainly wasn’t hard to picture cutting him now or killing him for that matter. However, you wanted his suffering to be prolonged, to draw it out so that he might feel some sliver, some minuscule fraction of what he’d made you feel. He didn’t deserve an easy death, not after what he had put you through—what he had almost certainly put others through. The thought of others in those small cages with their hands painfully bound before them made you want to hurt him even more. You could see them there in that hellish room crying and fearful just as you had been and you could hear his jeering laughter in the face of their despair. 

Karma was coming for this bastard at last and you were going to make him feel every ounce of misery that he had inflicted on others. 

Your eyes raked hungrily over his trembling body trying to find the perfect spot for your knife to make purchase. The thrill of power and utter control was almost maddening. It lent a little light, a glimpse of understanding, into how people could get off on this sort of thing. To have someone so utterly under your control made you feel untouchable. Perhaps that had also been part of Pagan’s gift to you. He took away the fear this man had inflicted and in its place there was nothing but power and invincibility. 

This man had hurt you, tormented you, nearly raped you and now he was an insect at your feet waiting to be crushed. You lifted the knife high as your eyes landed on his thigh and it triggered a terrible memory. You recalled all too well the feel of his hand as he touched you there—how dirty it made you feel to have him rubbing at your thigh and leering with that pleased smirk of his. He was _so fucking_ proud of himself for his exotic little catch and how much money people were willing to fork over just to have you. 

Yes, that was where you wanted to start and exactly how you planned to make him feel your pain. Every place he had ever touched you, every spot he’d ever glimpsed on your body, that was where you would cut him—where you would _hurt_ the disgusting bastard.

You started to bring the knife down but that was when something decided to get in the way. Someone grabbed you from behind and for a moment there was fear again, until the unwarranted familiarity had you unwinding just as quickly as you had tensed at the contact. 

Pagan’s lips were at your throat and his hand was around your wrist, keeping you from slamming the knife down into your terrified victim. You wondered briefly if he had no intention of letting you kill the bastard, but the movement of his free hand made it hard to think—as did his wicked mouth against your neck. 

His fingers slid beneath the hem of your shirt and every bit of skin they touched burned. 

“Not so fast,” He murmured and the heat in his tone sent a pang through you that was half pain and half pleasure. “If you overdo it he will die and you’ll want this to last.” You shivered as he kissed his way to your shoulder, tugging your shirt out of the way as we went. “ _Let me teach you_.” 

You relinquished the knife without fight or complaint. The fire in his tone tempted you further into dark places you should have feared to venture and yet he made them seem so desirable. 

You turned your head and let your lips brush the side of his face. He trembled under your kiss and even more at your heated consent. “ _Show me_.” 

He lifted his head so that your lips briefly touched—a touch that was electric and consuming—and then he slowly pulled away, holding the knife in his skilled hands as he moved to survey the crying slave trader at his feet. 

“The trick is to cut where he won’t bleed as much,” Pagan murmured with a playful smile and sultry tone. “If he loses too much blood he’ll either lose consciousness—which delays the fun until he wakes back up—or he’ll die.” He bent and lifted the man and the chair back up so he was once again upright. “And we can’t.” He tapped the blade against the man’s cheek slowly and in perfect sync with his words. “Have. That.” 

He looked up at you and motioned you closer. “Come here my sweet, I will show you all the right places.” When you were close enough he spun you around so that you were once more in his arms and he took a deep breath sounding perfectly delighted at having you so near. “ _I will show you everything_.” 

The utter hopelessness in the slave trader’s eyes only kindled the fire that Pagan had started and continued to stoke. What should have been a monstrous act—a crime, a horror—was somehow intimate under the king’s watchful eye and careful instruction. He was being true to his word and teaching you all the pleasure to be found in _sin_.


	5. The Sweetest Sin

Somehow under Pagan’s gaze the screams—the vengeance your rage demanded—seemed so much sweeter. The way he watched you, touched you, spoke to you: it all made you burn for him in ways you’d never thought possible. 

And when he leaned in suddenly to kiss you—a deep, long kiss that had you reeling—everything seemed so completely unreal. 

He was a temptation, a demon, an angel, a guiding light in your darkest hours and you let him guide you right into the shadowy abyss that lay somewhere between Heaven and Hell. What his end game might be or where he intended to lure you with all of this was hardly something you had the strength to care about anymore. Everything about him fueled this new addiction he’d incited and you wanted more—you _craved_ more.

Under his guiding hand you did terrible things to the man who had done such terrible things to you. Pagan gave you the means and skill to exact your vengeance and rather than the sickness you should have felt there was but adoration for this wonderful, _terrible_ man. 

“Right there,” He grunted hotly in your ear as he guided you stroke for stroke—slice for slice—and when you closed your eyes you imagined your hands on him instead, making him say those words for an entirely different reason. 

You wet your lips slowly at the thought and this move did not go unnoticed. The low hiss of air rushing between his clenched teeth your first and only warning. Before your eyes opened he had spun you around so that you were chest to chest and mouth to hungry mouth. 

You curled into his body as he pulled you closer still and the urgency in the way he kissed you was like a drug that went straight to your head. You wrapped your arms around his neck to hold him close and the bloodied knife slipped from your wet fingers, landing on the floor with a thunk that you hardly noticed. 

His hands were under your shirt and when he started to peel it off you felt a jolt of excitement that only made the drug that much more addictive. He was moving you as he all but ripped the shirt off—away from the broken and bleeding man and to a darker part of the room. The reason why he was moving, why he wanted space to work was enough to send you into a veritable frenzy of anticipation. 

You ripped open his shirt with your bloody hands and he pinned you forcefully against the wall, pressing his now bare chest against your own. It was like electricity and fire all rolled into one with his skin so hot and firm against your own. The way he kissed you, the way he pressed against your body, it felt like he was trying to consume you and rather than fear this or shy away from the idea you embraced it. Let him consume you, devour you, take you into his mad mad world and twist you into something new and terrible and beautiful all at once. Let him have his way with you—let him save you from the pain that had severed you from your old life and lead you into the darkness where all was pleasure and delicious sin. 

He was your undoing, the final piece that fell into place and condemned you to this new life that was so much different than your last and rather than hating him for it, you _adored_ him. Pagan took the pain away like nothing else could. He made you feel like something so much greater than the scared little girl you’d been when you were forced into Kyrat bound and pleading—destined for a slave’s life. 

With him you were no slave, you were no trembling girl, you were a _goddess_ and you let him worship your body as he let you worship his. You let him devour you mind, body, and soul and in return he let you have all of him.

It was so _perfect_. 

Having him against you, having him kiss you, was utter bliss—it was the closest thing to heaven that could possibly be touched on earth. 

You managed to slide your hands down the front of his pants and pop open the top button just as the sound of something falling and the hurried rush of footsteps broke into the heated haze of passion and desire. 

The slave trader had broken free and had made a run for it, limping and bleeding all the way. Rather than pursing right away though, Pagan gave you that tempting and wicked smile. “It seems he still has some energy,” He licked his lips and chuckled. “How about a little game of cat and mouse before we slip off to bed?”

The promise in those words burned straight down to the deepest part of you and you followed Pagan out through the door, pausing briefly to grab your discarded shirt. At this point you would probably follow that sly, manipulative devil straight into Hell with a smile on your face.

~*~~*~*~~*~*~~*~*~~*~*~~*~*~~*~*~~*~

Pagan was in no hurry to catch up to the fleeing slave trader and really, neither were you.

It seemed almost comical that the man was running, because there was hardly anywhere for him to go. Even if he made it out into the open air and passed the guards there would be nowhere in Kyrat where Pagan couldn’t find him—likely nowhere out of it either. He would have to run for the rest of his life and live in fear with every breath he took and every beat of his vile heart. It was such a tantalizing notion that you almost wanted him to escape. To know that he was out there terrified that his life would end at any moment was so dangerously appealing that you couldn’t quite push the idea aside—regardless of how titillating and _amusing_ the chase might be. 

All he was doing was prolonging the pain and that would make it so much more terrible when it finally caught up. Like the slow tug of a bandaid—fear of pain making it more torturous than it need be. A quick and awful moment of hurt would have been so much better than that slow build from hesitation and wary. It needn’t last so long, it had to happen anyway, but the pain— _the agony_ —made it too hard to just get it over with. 

Though, of course, his pain would never be quick. It would always be slow and torturous; he was just choosing to drag it out even longer, whether he realized this or not. 

You should have felt some measure of pity or trepidation as you followed after Pagan and his men, as you hunted another human being down like an animal. There should have been a lot of things you felt and yet none of those things were present anymore. Perhaps if Pagan hadn’t come along, if he hadn’t made you face all the dark things that were crawling around inside your head, maybe then you would have been more humane. Yet you had been made to stare right into the face of the monster from your nightmares, to look into the eyes of the one who had stolen not only your life and your happiness, but also apparently your humanity. There was just no room left inside your head for weak things like guilt, pity, and forgiveness. 

Not for someone who plays god with people’s lives; who would snatch a girl off the street to make a quick buck—who would try to rape a helpless, defenseless… You had to cut that train of thought off because the rage was back in full force and overpowering even the all consuming desire you felt for the king of Kyrat. Instead you watched Pagan as he directed the search and delighted in the state of him and his clothing. His hair was a mess, his eyes were like fire, his shirt was ripped open and showing off his very toned chest, and the slight opening of his pants had left them hanging low on his hips. He was a delicious distraction from the toxic fury that still raced through your veins.

You must not have been much better off though from the way he smirked as he looked you over in the light. He beckoned you closer and you curled into him as he kissed you, while his men split off to find the wayward mouse that had managed to make it outside. 

Though judging by the gunfire just a few moments later, the fool hadn’t made it very far.

~*~~*~*~~*~*~~*~*~~*~*~~*~*~~*~*~~*~

Pagan sighed as he looked over the pathetic excuse for a man at his feet. “I really thought you were going to make this worth my time—” he looked back at you in question suddenly. “What was his name again?”

You shrugged in response, though his antics had a smile tugging at your lips. For such a dangerous man he was oddly quirky. 

“Hm. Well, never mind, it really doesn’t matter what we call you, does it? The end results the same either way.” He said with a bit of amusement in his tone. The man on the ground tried to say something but all that came out was a squeak. “What was that? I don’t think I heard you.” Pagan leaned in a little with an indulgent smile. “You’ll have to speak up.” 

The presently nameless slave trader opened his mouth again to try and speak but he seemed all choked up with fear—or maybe it was the sobbing. You knew first hand how hard it was to talk when you couldn’t stop crying. Though the memory of that made you want to grab one of the soldier’s guns and shoot the man right in the face. 

“Really? Nothing to say for yourself? No pleading, no begging, nothing at all?” Pagan rubbed his chin for a moment in deliberation before he turned to you. “Well then, I supposed it is time for you to render the verdict.” He took to circling the trembling and sobbing man. “We have so many options as far as punishments go—it makes it very hard to choose just one.” The smile on his face was in direct contrast to the heavy implication of his words. “Hm, lets see, lets see… We could have him back in the room of course—that was such fun.” He shot you a heated glance that made you weak in the knees. “Of course there is always public execution, nothing wrong with that option.” The way the man in question whimpered said that he found a lot wrong with it, but Pagan ignored him. “Or he could be made a slave himself, something of an ironic twist so far as justice goes. Maybe he’d even learn a lesson about stealing pretty girls and trying to sell them off.” 

That idea was certainly appealing. You could easily picture him being shoved in a cage and used day after day to pleasure some twisted fuck’s every fantasy and urge. It would be no less than what he deserved and, as Pagan stated, an ironic ending for a slave trader. 

“Oh, but I almost forgot.” Pagan stopped and looked from the condemned man to you. “We do have one other tempting option at our disposal, though I must admit it is quite terrible.”

This peaked your interest and made the man shudder even harder. 

“There is always _Durgesh_.” The way he said the name meant it had to be something terrible, but before you could ask what it was someone else spoke up.

It was the first time you’d heard the slave trader’s voice since his begging back in the dark room. 

“No!” There was no stuttering or whimpering, just pure unadulterated fear. “Please! Anything—I can’t—not that,” He had trouble stringing two words together he was so afraid and he hadn’t even said anything at the prospect of slavery, torture, or a very public death. 

This Durgesh must have been something truly terrible to garner this kind of reaction. Pagan was still looking at you, waiting for your ruling on the man’s fate.

The man made this mistake of looking at you too and the fear in his eyes at the simple idea of being sent to this place was enough to sway you.

“Durgesh it is.”


	6. Durgesh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go~ though it isn't done yet and it is the smut. So, depending on my level of inspiration and writing drive, it might take a little bit.

Whatever terrible place Durgesh was, just the fact that he’d soon be stuck there was enough to have the otherwise meek and fearful slave trader fighting tooth and nail against the armed guards—even with all of his many injuries. They’d had to tie him up pretty good before throwing him bodily into the helicopter. 

This served to further Pagan’s amusement and your gut feeling that this was the right way to go with punishing the awful man. He seemed to be more than willing to take a bullet or two in favor of going to this place. Even bound as he was and sitting between two armed guards he was still trying to get away, even if it meant throwing himself out of a moving helicopter.

You watched him squirm and writhe in his seat as you sat across from him with Pagan one one side and another guard on the other. The guard was sitting as far to the side as he could while Pagan had his arm draped around your shoulders just as before. It seemed he was the only one comfortable being so close to you. Whether this was because you had killed three other soldiers or simply out of fear of some terrible punishment from Pagan you neither knew, cared, nor blamed them for it.

Either option was reason enough to keep some distance and you were perfectly content with that. After all, before all of this the soldiers had been far too brazen and happy to take advantage of a seemingly helpless foreigner. That was what landed two of those three guards with slashed throats—the other just had the misfortune of getting in the way of your escape. 

Then out of the blue, as you processed the shock and ease of taking their lives, came Pagan Min, the great and terrible king—the savior and tempter. 

On a sudden impulse you nuzzled closer to him, kissing the underside of his jaw with an almost reverence. You felt a ‘hm’ against your lips that indicated he was very pleased at your bold action—though it was hardly as brash as what you’d done to his shirt. In fact, with the way he was holding you, the naked skin of his chest was pressed right up against you and was something you had trouble not running your fingers all over. He certainly didn’t seem to mind public displays of affection though and that made it all the more tempting. 

“Sir, we’re nearing the mountains.” One of the guards said carefully, so much so that he was hardly heard over the whir of the helicopter’s blades. 

You glanced out the window and saw that he was right, the chopper was heading right towards the snowy mountain range and was already quite close. 

“Ah, yes,” Pagan sighed as he released his hold on you with something akin to regret. “We’d best get ready.”

You were only briefly confused by what he meant until movement out of the corner of your eye had you turning towards the guard on your other side. 

The guard handed you something that you quickly identified as a coat and you glanced over to see Pagan pulling one on as well. It seemed you weren’t just going near the mountains: you were heading right into them.

~*~~*~*~~*~*~~*~*~~*~*~~*~*~~*~*~~*~

Even through the thick, over-sized coat you felt the cold all the way down to your bones. It was a huge contrast to the warmth down in the valley. You kept your hands shoved in your pocket as you sunk into the coat until only the top of your head was visible poking out of it. It didn’t help much, but it was really all you could do aside from shiver.

Pagan seemed hardly affected by the cold though as he led the way into the building that looked to have been carved right out of the mountain. The landing pad for the helicopter was little more than a flat, protruding stretch of rock that sat in front of the entrance to this chilling place that must have been Durgesh. 

“Welcome to my mountain prison,” Pagan said with a flare as you entered through the stone archway and into the dark tunnel that lay beyond. 

From somewhere deep inside you could hear screams and it made the hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention. Barely in the doorway and already you were starting to understand what was so terrifying about this place.

The guards were having to half drag and half carry the pale, sputtering mess that was to be this place’s newest occupant. Pagan took a torch in one hand and held out his free arm to you like a proper gentleman. You didn’t hesitate at the gesture and he smiled at you before leading the way into the depths of Durgesh—or perhaps Hell was a better word. 

Inside the prison was a maze, though some of the passages had fallen in on themselves. It was hardly much warmer inside than out and certainly much darker as night made its swift approach. At least outside you could see the stars and the moon. Inside the prison though were only glimpses of the outside world through the parts of the walls that had fallen away. Mainly what you saw through them though was snow and what would prove to be a fatal fall for anyone who got too close in hopes of seeing the sky. 

It was the epitome of despair, this place—truly a fate worse than death and perhaps even worse than a life of slavery. At least as a slave you could see a chance at escaping, some glimmer of hope in the long tunnel of darkness. Here though there was nothing but that tunnel, a false hope that would lead to death, and the agonizing screams to keep you company in the dark. 

You shivered closer to Pagan, but not because of the cold. 

If it ever came to a choice between this place and death you would take the plunge with a running start. 

It seemed you weren’t the only person who thought that way either. As your group came around a bend someone came barreling around the corner screaming. They didn’t even seem to see you as they ran headlong towards the opening in the wall and straight off the cliff without so much as a pause. 

It was an unnerving sight, especially considering where your thoughts had just been. 

“This place is not for the faint of heart.” Was all Pagan said as you continued to stare at the ledge where the man had run to his death. 

The more morbid part of your mind wondered how far he’d fallen and if he was still alive by the time he hit the ground. 

“Ah!” Pagan’s exclamation of pleased surprise drew you away from this, though you couldn’t seem to take your eyes far from the opening. 

Especially when you caught the guards shoving the slave trader into a nearby cell—one with a perfect view of the cliff in fact, but no way for him to get to it even if he wanted to jump. You locked eyes with him as Pagan spoke to someone.

“I see you’re already here. Good, good, very good.” He seemed quite pleased as he leaned to kiss your cheek and effectively distracted you from your staring contest with the condemned man. 

“Allow me to introduce my second in command: Yuma Lau.” Pagan proclaimed quite jovially, especially for someone in a setting that exuded such complete despair. 

You only glanced at her long enough to take in her appearance. She was a petite asian woman with cold dark eyes, as well as a vivid patch of pink hair in a little up-do between the natural and very short black hair on either side. 

Yuma said nothing and instead merely observed as you turned back to watch the man crying and squirming on the stone floor. How long would it take for him to end up a hopeless, muttering shell just like the others next to him? The man the next cell over didn’t even seem to notice anyone was around. He rocked back and forth sitting curled in a little ball on the floor, talking to himself about demons and other things you couldn’t quite understand. 

Would he even survive that long? 

You’d been there so short a time and already seen a man go running off the cliff to his death—obviously a fate much preferable to rotting in this hellhole. Somewhere deep down you knew you should have felt something akin to guilt or sadness at leaving anyone in a place such as this. It should have stirred regret even for a moment, but having him hold you with that pleading look only kindled the hatred. 

You remembered looking at him just like that when he locked you in a cage even smaller than this one. He had leered at you through the bars and cackled as you cried.

“Please,” He murmured so softly you almost didn’t catch it and you stepped away from the warmth of Pagan’s body towards the icy chill of the jail cell. Your hands wrapped around the frozen bars as you stared him dead in the eye. 

“I’d say be grateful I didn’t kill you already, but right now that seems like a bargain by comparison.” You said simply with a smirk on your face. 

He lunged forward as best as he could all bound as he was. “Anything else! I’ll do anything! I’ll take anything!” His pleading was desperate and pathetic. 

All his wiggling did was land him face down on the icy stone, though a little closer at least to where you stood just outside the bars. He looked up into your eyes likely hoping for some warmth or reconsideration, but there was none to be found. All you felt for him was hatred and you knew without a doubt that he more than deserved this fate.

“I’m sure all the people before me felt that way too.” You said as you crouched down so that the two of you were nearly at eye level. “I hope you rot in this place.” 

He couldn’t seem to find the words to respond and went back to sobbing as you stood up once more. You turned around to see Pagan smirking and Yuma looking nearly emotionless at the exchange.

Though, there was something in her icy glare that seemed accepting, as if you had passed some secret test. Perhaps she appreciated your callous disregard for the man’s life and sanity or she liked the lack of fear as you boldly held her gaze. Regardless, she continued to say nothing and did nothing as Pagan took your hand and led you back towards the entrance. 

Pagan seemed to have found something pleasing about the silent exchange, though he did not bring it up. Maybe he had been wanting her approval of you for some reason or other—you really weren’t concerned either way.

One last time you glanced back as Yuma entered the cell with a syringe in her hand and the guards came forward to hold the man still. It would likely be the last time you ever saw him. 

You wanted to memorize the look of utter despair.


End file.
